That he still bore scars is what I’ve always thought so beautiful. It’s what’s intrigued me more than almost anything else all these years about the story so many celebrate at Easter all over the world, believers, half-believers, unbelievers too. The story of resurrection, the idea of it, the hope of it.
There’s an essay by C. S. Lewis that I have, ever since I first read it as a teenager, always remembered at some of the more frustrating moments of my life, moments especially of interpersonal aggravation.